Worship in the Night
by Juulna
Summary: As the Long Night approached, every day growing shorter and shorter, Dany found herself spending more and more time at Winterfell, soaking in the warmth of friendship and family that seemed to far surpass that of the warm breeze blowing across the battlements of King's Landing. [Jon x Sansa, Dany x Sansa]


**Note: First time ever writing GoT/ASoIaF, and this is definitely based off the show, not the books. I've had some ideas spinning around in the back of my mind for these three for a while now, but have just been too focused on other things to do anything with it. Well, this months' Polyshippingday theme was 'darkness' so it kind of popped into my head and I ran with it. It is likely imperfect as I'm throwing this into the air and running away from it without my beta seeing it (love you! lol) but hopefully you shall forgive me. ;)**

 **I hope you enjoy, and come say hi to me on my eclectic Tumblr page, juuls, if you feel like it! I also write Marvel and Star Wars!**

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Daenerys Targaryen had set out to break the wheel, and she did just that. With fire, with blood, she painted Westeros, and then rested, replete, to survey what pieces were left from which she could forge her new world.

Her old world, in truth. And she had wrested it from her enemies, from the corrupted souls of the damned. She did not know which gods they prayed to, the old or the new, or the eastern god of light, and so she did not know where their souls now gathered—if they did at all.

All that mattered was that she had wrested Westeros from the hands of those who would enslave its people.

And she would never— _could_ never—abide that.

She would bring _her people_ from out of the darkness they'd been held in for so long.

But… she would need help to do so. Tyrion… oh Tyrion, her loyal hand… he had proven himself time and again, though there was man a time she wished he would keep his wit to himself.

In Jon Snow, she found an ally. A strong one, who had laid down his pride but kept his honor, and had helped her win battle after battle, slowly taking back the Seven Kingdoms, while his sister ruled the North in his stead, guarding the Wall that had been breached with troops that they freed up as they cleared more and more of the kingdom.

And then suddenly Lady Sansa of Winterfell, Warden of the North—queen in all but name, though she knew they whispered it… oh, how they whispered it—was no longer Jon Snow's half-sister. Suddenly the family dynamics of the three strongest players in Westeros shifted, and Daenerys eyed her nephew in a new light.

But it was not to be. Daenerys looked at him and saw possibility—if she had met him before Drogo, before the witch, or even before Daario, and before Jorah had pulled her heart into knots—but she didn't want to take that step. Not… not _yet_.

She thought she was done with love, with romance, with sex and pleasure and desire and everything else that came with the messiness of human emotion, until she flew to Winterfell for the very first time, Drogo's great wings casting a vast shadow across the world below—as if preparing them for what was to come, as if the shadow were an omen, or a reminder.

As if the men and women of the North needed that reminder.

That night, she met the Lady Sansa for the first time, face to face, and Daenerys couldn't help the quick indrawn breath she took. Sansa was… beautiful. At first, as Sansa curtsied to the appropriate depth, Daenerys thought that she was a summer rose, heady and strong but something that would only last so long—but then, oh _then_ the woman lifted her head just a little and met Daenerys' eyes and that was when Dany knew two things.

One, the woman was no summer rose. She was weirwood, strong and deep-rooted, fiery and ethereal and _rare_ , fighting for every bit of soil she grew in, and watchful… so, _so_ watchful, with a penetrating gaze that rivaled nearly that of her cousin Jon's. No, it surpassed it. There were levels to this woman that Dany wished to uncover, to peel away until she reached the core of who Sansa was and then bask in the complexity of everything she was.

Which led to the second thing that Dany knew in that moment: she wanted Sansa with a burning desire that she hadn't felt in _years_.

And it only increased when later—much, _much_ later, when everyone was deep into their cups except for her and the two she was watching from the shadows at the edge of the hall—she watched the woman's lithe form as she danced with her liege lord, watched the way they pressed against each other for ever-lengthening moments, and the way that they whispered to each other, soft smiles meant for one another… and no one else.

It would seem that Daenerys was too late.

And yet… Sansa tossed her hair over her shoulder and in the same movement caught Dany's eye. Jon pressed their bodies tighter for a moment, and yet Sansa's gaze never strayed. In fact, Jon was looking at Dany as well, and his eyes were hooded as he slowly, methodically, ran his gaze over the queen, back to the woman in his arms, the woman who _looked_ like a queen, _held_ herself like a queen, and then back to Daenerys again, just in time to catch Dany's wide-eyed gaze as she took in the two before her.

She had… she had never felt so… _wanted_. Even if she wanted them in different ways, it was still... heady. Powerful, to be wanted like _this_. She had been desired, for many different things or reasons over the years. Mostly things. She was sought after for what she could give to others, and never had she been given anything in return.

Jon and Sansa, however, had never once asked for anything except to be left alone, and for someone— _whoever_ it was filling the role of the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms—to help protect them all from the horrors north of the Wall.

Jon and Sansa had never asked for anything except for aid for their people, and for the people of all of Westeros; those who had been left to rot by their lords and ladies, their protectors, before Daenerys had come to protect them all.

Daenerys had been here to see to the people's safety in any case, so the King and Lady of the North had truly been asking for nothing that she was not already going to give.

In fact, Jon and Sansa never asked for anything for themselves—and they had _so much_ that they were willing to give to Daenerys. And did. They offered her hearth and home, company and music, advice both military and personal alike, their friendship, their smiles, their armies and weapons and supplies, and even their lords and ladies treated Daenerys with a kindness and warmth, though still gruff, that she had never expected from the Northern people.

She was happy to be proven wrong.

As the Long Night approached, every day growing shorter and shorter, Dany found herself spending more and more time at Winterfell, soaking in the warmth of friendship and family that seemed to far surpass that of the warm breeze blowing across the battlements of King's Landing.

She grew closer to Jon and Sansa, and even to Bran and Arya and the other people of the castle and of the North. But she was closest with Jon and Sansa—the two who she could finally admit, with some searching, some honesty of self, that she was growing to love.

"Will you take Sansa to wife?" Dany asked bluntly one morning, six by the time pieces but dark— _so dark_.

Jon practically choked on the bite of porridge that he had moments before taken.

Dany rolled her eyes at him, but continued, just as calm, just as blunt, as before. "The Long Night draws near and you two so obviously have eyes for the other. Now is the time to hold our loved ones close and damn all those who speak out against it, is that not so?"

"I… yes," Jon muttered.

"Was that agreement, or yes you'll be marrying her?" Dany raised one perfectly trimmed brow at him, and he raised one right back.

He was silent for more than a minute, perhaps two, but that was not unusual for the man. Finally, he spoke. "She and I have already spoken on the topic and were of a mind, however she asked for me to wait until she spoke with you."

"What for?" Dany tilted her head just so.

"If we were to… there could be…" Jon was flustered, and Dany hid her smile in her cup of hot tea. "Children. A Targaryen heir."

"Ah, I see," Dany muttered. And she did. However… "I cannot have children, Jon," Dany continued, gently, as if _he_ were the one who could not have them, not her. "So the kingdom passes to you and to any heir you produce. And ties to the North… it is a sound decision, Jon. You have my approval."

He nodded at her, but she couldn't help but wonder at the sad look in his eyes.

They were married in a small ceremony, only Jon and Sansa, the maester, Dany and Tyrion as witnesses, and of course Ghost, with Drogon and Rhaegal circling overhead.

Dany had never seen anything so beautiful in all the world, and she had traveled so far, and seen so much, and yet the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen were the two souls before her, dressed simply, love shining upon them as they smiled, lost in each other's eyes.

And when they turned those smiles on Dany… she was lost as well. It felt like she was speaking the vows with them, feeling each word etch into her very heart and mind and soul. She was lost, and knew that there could never be anyone else—even if all she did was love from afar.

A quiet knock on her door late that night stole all thoughts from her mind. She stood frozen as she took in the sight of Jon with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of Sansa, whose hair was mussed gloriously, gorgeously, beautiful—she was _so very beautiful_ —oh stars above she was beautiful in her robe, bare skin peeking through beneath the curtain of her hair as it fell across her chest and Dany just wanted to drop to her knees and _worship_ this goddess who had done nothing but good with the gifts that cruelty had wrought for her.

Suddenly remembering herself, Dany's eyes snapped back up to Sansa's, then Jon's, and then Sansa's once more. All she could see was love and kindness—no anger, no accusation, no…

"I—" and before Dany could finish, Sansa pressed a finger against Dany's lips, mirth shining in her eyes—something so rarely seen there now, and oh how she wished to fix that—and then she stepped forward, into Dany's space, robe gliding against robe, and pressed a kiss to the corner of the silver-haired woman's lips.

"We felt your vows," Sansa whispered as she drew back. "We felt you say them in the godswood, before the heart tree, and only true devotion…" Sansa trailed off, then pressed her cheek against Dany's. Dany couldn't help but to breathe her in—hints of teak and honey, and a scent that was all Jon…

"The heart tree recognized you, us. Bran said you're ours, and we're yours," Jon began, and Dany snapped her head up, eyes fierce. Sansa made a noise of disappointment, but pulled back, even as Jon continued, placating, but not backing down. "Dany, not like that. In… in heart. As in… as in…"

"We love you," Sansa whispered, a shy smile playing at her lips as she ducked her head. Dany couldn't help but to smile in return at the gesture—she was the only one who Sansa let her guard down around. Well, her and Jon. Not even her siblings saw… this.

She—

"You _what_?" Dany's mind had finally caught up.

"We love you," Jon repeated. And Dany met his eyes, and saw care in them. Saw that he _knew_. That he knew that she did not want physical gratification from him, only companionship, love, family, _home_ —a type of love that many people, even her, until _this moment_ , did not know existed. Even the great scholars and poets could not see that one could _love_ in this manner without the physical.

But now she saw.

And in that moment, in the next ones where she carefully held Sansa's gaze, and then Jon's once more, questioning, seeking with her eyes the answers she needed… in that moment she knew that they were speaking the truth.

Danerys Targaryen had become a conqueror, a world-builder, a breaker of chains. She took what she wanted and powered through anything and everything to get what she wanted. There was still so much to _do_ , but she knew with clarity what lay ahead.

Yet she had long ago closed her heart to love, to even the possibility of it. The world, however, had a strange way of opening doors that one had long since sealed shut and forgotten about.

And once the light started to shine through the cracks around that door… Dany burst through it and took it all, as fierce and as confident as the way she protected her people.

As the bells struck the hour of five, and the castle started to wake around them despite the darkness that would surround them for hours to come, Dany and Jon, both light sleepers at the best of times, jerked upright and then caught each other's eyes over top of Sansa's sleeping form. They shared a soft smile, laughing at each other silently, and then couldn't help but to drop their gazes to the woman they loved in ways that was leaps and bounds beyond what they could ever hope for. Jon brushed a strand of hair off of Sansa's cheek as Dany pressed a kiss to the swell of her breast, and then they slowly drifted back to sleep, even if only for a little while longer.

Because lords and ladies, and even visiting queens, always had work to do.

And they did. They worked, and they worked hard, and the people worked hard for the ones who freed them from the darkness of oppression and ignorance and cruelty.

When the Long Night came, another form of darkness entirely, they worked harder than ever before, toiling beneath the night sky alongside their people. They became like suns, a light in the darkness, a hope that all was not lost.

Their kingdom had them… and they had each other. Every day they grew stronger, even as the night seemed to darken blacker than blackest pitch, the snow piled higher and higher, and the dead began their walk in earnest.

They knew that the fight could not be drawn out, and so they fought, Jon with the first wave, Sansa the second, and Daenerys in the air.

When the sun finally broke the horizon, and the snows began to melt, the bards traveled far and wide, carrying the tale of _The Dragons and Their Queen_.

It was the first song that Daenerys sung to Sansa's girl, her daughter in all but truth. The way that Sansa kissed her, laughter on her lips and light in her eyes, caused tears to catch in Dany's throat, and she buried her face in Sansa's flame-colored hair. "I love you," Dany whispered, holding the small child between her and Sansa. Jon's hand fell on Dany's shoulder and squeezed once, twice, before his thumb rubbed circles.

"And we you," they said, in that way they'd been practicing of late to see if they could make the Dragon Queen laugh.

And they did. More and more, the Dragon Queen found reason to laugh and love, and love and laugh.


End file.
